


Orphans at Christmas

by PixelByPixel



Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: (I have not forgotten what shows this fic is for), Canon-Typical Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-atypical happiness, Christmas Party, Cookies, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, SANTA FRANK, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: When St. Agnes Orphanage gets money for a Christmas party and needs a Santa, who else to ask but Frank Castle?
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Margaret Murdock & Matt Murdock
Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532732
Comments: 14
Kudos: 96
Collections: Daredevil Bingo





	Orphans at Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks as always to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for beta-skills and putting up with the whining.
> 
> This also fills my [Daredevil Bingo square](https://pixelbypixelfanfic.tumblr.com/bingo) for Muay Thai ropes.

Maggie would not fuss over Matthew. She wasn’t the fussing type, as they both knew, but part of her _wanted_ to fuss. He’d been so happy ever since he’d gotten together with Frank, but lately, he seemed anxious and a little moody. Well, more so than usual.

Maybe it was December hitting him. December had always been a challenge for Maggie, between how dark it was and the stress of the holiday season, and God knew it seemed like Matthew took after her in that. Sister Connie had gotten her one of those lights last year, the kind that was supposed to help lift the mood.

“Not that I’m saying you’re _moody_ ,” Connie had teased, but, well, Maggie knew she was.

Maybe she’d give the light to Matthew. It had just been sitting in her bedside table, doing nobody any good. But, no, he would take it as a criticism. She wasn’t sure what would rub him the wrong way, and that felt… disappointing, somehow, though she chided herself for that feeling. She was only his mother through biology; she hadn’t had the nurturing of him, so how could she expect herself to be able to have an innate understanding of the man?

Of course, she still expected that, and the guilt whenever she said something wrong to him still hurt, and she still regretted how things had ended up. If she had known Jack would get himself killed, would she have left? Maggie didn’t think too hard about that. The girl she’d been would never have imagined how everything was now.

Matthew should have been there. He’d said he would stop by after work, and, well. Never mind that it was past eight o’clock. Maybe he was still at work. Maybe he’d gone off with Foggy. Maybe he’d had a rough day and had just gone home. Surely it wasn’t that he’d forgotten, or that he’d just said he’d visit to be polite, or out of some misguided sense of duty.

“Maggie.”

Maggie looked up as Sister Connie rested a hand on her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Just wanted to let you know that Matthew is coming down the street.” Connie gave her shoulder a squeeze and then turned to go. Maggie appreciated that Connie didn’t say, “He’s here; you can stop feeling sorry for yourself,” but that was more her way than Connie’s. She didn’t deserve Connie, really, and she said a quick prayer: gratitude for her friend and patience for her conversation with Matthew.

She didn’t get up from the pew. Matthew would find her; more likely, Connie would tell him where she was. And soon enough she heard the sound of his cane, and then he came to a halt in the aisle by the pew where she sat.

“Sorry. Work. I didn’t get a chance to call, and then I figured that I might as well just come.”

Maggie slid over to make room in the pew and Matthew sat. She turned to look at him - a quick assessment was automatic now - but there weren’t any new injuries that she could see. He seemed to be sitting easily enough. The glasses made it hard to tell if he looked tired or stressed. Maggie shook her head, wryly amused with her own ridiculousness: yes, how inconvenient that a blind man’s glasses made it harder to read him.

“Well, you’re here now. Would you like to go over to St. Agnes?”

Matthew tipped his head back a little and Maggie wondered what he could hear. Clinton Church had its odd acoustical quirks; if she listened hard enough, she thought she might hear the echo of Paul Lantom’s voice. Or maybe it was just that gaggle of children, coming in with their mother and being told to sit _still_ while she went to confession.

How long had it been since Matthew had gone? Maggie never asked: not Matthew, not the priest who had come to replace Paul. It was between them and God, and not her business, no matter how much she worried.

“Yes,” Matthew said finally. “Maybe some tea?”

“Of course.” He so rarely asked her for anything that she felt foolishly pleased to be able to do something for him. “Might even be able to find some cookies.”

“Tea _and_ cookies,” Matthew said as he got up, with Maggie following. “Now, I know you have a secret stash of cookies that you don’t tell the kids about.”

He led the way and Maggie fell into step with him. She’d seen him take Foggy’s arm, or Frank’s, and she felt a twinge of hope that he might do the same with her, but no. No, he just walked through the church and into the orphanage.

“Of course we do,” Maggie replied as she closed the door behind them. “You always sniffed them out and then conned… oh, what was his name?”

“Richie.”

“Richie! Of course. He’s a doctor, now; can you believe it? You’d get Richie to climb up and get them; don’t think we didn’t know.”

“Huh. Stealing cookies as kids and look at us now.” Matthew tipped his head, smiling a little as he added, “We never got in trouble for it, though.”

They made their way into the kitchen and Maggie filled the kettle and then got out mugs and teabags. “In the grand scheme of things, missing a few cookies wasn’t so awful.”

Well, and Matthew had lost his vision and his father, and cookie-stealing with Richie was one of the few positive interactions he’d had with the other children. No, none of the nuns would have stopped that.

Maggie turned to look at Matthew standing there in the kitchen, so tall now. She shouldn’t feel proud - it was none of her doing that he was as successful as he was - but she did. “Can you tell me where the cookies are now?”

“In the jar on the counter.” _Child’s play,_ his voice said, and she smiled to see him so pleased with himself.

Maggie put the kettle on. “And?”

This took him just a moment longer. “Top shelf, middle cabinet. Hey, are those the cinnamon ones?”

“Snickerdoodles, yes. Ridiculous name, but they taste good. Can you get them for me?” She needed the step-stool to reach them, not that she would admit it.

Matthew brought down the tin of cookies, freshly baked by Sister Bernadette that afternoon, and sat at the table before opening the tin.

Sometimes Maggie suspected that Matthew was not the only one with supernatural senses; as soon as the tin popped open, footsteps signaled the arrival of small, hungry kids. The kettle whistled and Maggie started the tea. Mint. She could use something soothing, and likely Matthew could as well.

“Matt!” Alex called, his voice loud enough to make Matthew wince, but Pablo had other priorities.

“Cookies!”

“Hey,” Sammy added, accusing, “You _hid_ them.”

“Hi, kids,” Matt greeted, his hand still on the tin. He tipped his head at Maggie, brows lifting.

“Sister Bernadette baked them while you were at school, and I hid them so that they would last more than an hour.”

“Aw, come on, Sister,” Pablo wheedled. “Just one?”

“Or three,” Sammy added. “What? They’re little.”

“Have you done your homework?”

“Yes,” they chorused.

“And your chores?”

“Yes!”

“What about a good deed?” Maggie kept her tone even, but Matthew could probably tell that she was trying not to laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pablo moaned.

“Not worth it,” Alex decided, thumping into the chair next to Matthew’s.

“All right, go ahead,” Maggie said, and Matthew slid the tin toward Alex. “Two, not three. And each of you owes me a good deed.”

“Thanks, Sister!” The kids dove into the tin, and it looked like they each took just the allotted two.

Matthew took only one and brought it to his nose to sniff before he took a bite. “Tastes just like when I was a kid.”

“Sister Bernadette was alive when you were a kid?” Sammy asked.

Alex quipped, “Sister Bernadette was alive when _God_ was a kid.”

“Alex,” Maggie chided, because it was required; privately, she thought he wasn’t too far off.

“She still wear that perfume?” Matthew asked Alex; he smiled as all three children made gagging noises.

“Matthew, you’re not helping.”

The children made a teasing _oooh_ noise and Matthew said, “Stop that. I’m not in trouble.”

Pablo dropped into the chair on Matt’s other side. “Where’s Frank?”

“Uh,” Matthew replied. “Working, I think.”

Alex leaned against the table. “You know, Matt,” he said conversationally, “We haven’t been seeing Frank at mass lately. Is everything okay?”

Maggie cleared her throat. “I didn’t tell him to say that.” She _had_ noticed, of course, but hadn’t thought she should say anything.

“Of course not,” Matthew agreed, his tone dry. Turning back in Alex’s direction, he added, “Frank’s a busy guy. If he can’t make it to mass sometimes -”

“Try _all_ the time,” Pablo interrupted, but Matthew continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“- then that’s his choice, and that’s fine. God knows what’s in his heart.”

Maggie tried to take that statement at face value, but couldn’t help but find it a little ominous.

Sammy leaned against the back of Matt’s chair. “You could bring him to the Christmas party,” she suggested. “It would be more fun than church, and then maybe Pablo would shut up about never seeing him.”

Pablo made as if to shove Sammy, but was perhaps deterred by Matthew’s presence. Pablo had at least shown some discretion and not blurted that he knew the Punisher, who was his favorite. Favorite what, Maggie wasn’t quite sure.

“Christmas party?” Matthew repeated, his head turning in Maggie’s direction. Maggie knew what he wasn’t asking: where had the money for a Christmas party come from?

“Donation,” Maggie replied, pulling the teabags out of the cups and dropping them in the sink to drain.

“Yeah, somebody gave the orphanage money and said we _had_ to spend it on a party,” Alex added.

Pablo glanced at the cookie tin and then at Maggie. “I like parties, but…” He shrugged. “We need a lot.”

“Yeah, but you need fun, too,” Matthew told him, his smile encouraging. Maggie resisted the urge to suggest that Matthew take his own advice. That wouldn't go over well. 

Pablo sighed and Maggie guessed what he was thinking: _How fun could a party at an orphanage be?_ He grinned, then, “I know what would make it fun: if Frank came. Uh, and you, too.”

“Oh, glad to be included,” Matthew said, murmuring his thanks as Maggie set the tea before him and then moved over the sugar as well. “Such enthusiasm.”

“We like you, too, Matt,” Sammy said, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you, Sammy,” Matthew replied, and Maggie smiled at his long-suffering tone.

“Go on, now,” she urged the children. “You’ve had your cookies, and I’ll thank you not to spread the word that they’re here.”

“Of course we won’t,” Alex said as he got to his feet. “Won’t be as many for us if everybody else knows about them.”

“Matt?” Pablo asked. When Matthew turned in his direction, Pablo did the wide-eyed, hopeful thing even though Matthew couldn’t see him. Still, it came across in his voice if he asked, “Will you ask Frank if he’ll come to the party? Please?”

Matthew sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks!”

The trio took off for parts unknown, though Maggie heard the back door slam and assumed that they had gone outside.

Matthew shook his head a little and took up his tea. “They’re… they’re good kids. But they make me tired.”

“Try living with them,” Maggie replied, settling into a seat with her own tea.

“Ha, no thanks. No, no kids for me. I’d be a terrible father.”

Maggie wasn’t so sure about that. Matthew’s vigilante work, yes, that would be more challenging if a child was in the picture. But he had compassion, and he did well with the children whenever she saw him with them. He’d promised that he would take them places, and he had. _Keeping promises_ , Maggie thought ruefully, _is the most important aspect of parenting. Or at least a big part._

Still, she couldn’t say that to Matthew of all people, considering that she’d broken the most important promise: to be there. So she took a long sip of tea, then suggested, “You do well with them.”

Matthew shrugged. “Yeah, but being the… the cool uncle-type, or whatever I am, taking them out, getting them sugared up and leaving them here? That’s different than parenting, the day-to-day. Dealing with them when they’re cranky or sick or just don’t want to do their homework.”

Right. Because what would Maggie know about that, where Matthew was concerned? She had tried to treat him no differently than any other child in the orphanage; she wasn’t a parent to any of them, despite dealing with crankiness, sickness, and certainly the homework issue.

“Well,” Maggie suggested, trying to sound as if she were joking, “You’re welcome to come help out at homework time. Andre is taking government this year, and he says it’s the most boring class he’s ever had.” Matthew scoffed, and Maggie added, “They’re going to be learning about Thurgood Marshall soon.”

She almost had him; she saw the way he perked up at the possibility of talking about Thurgood Marshall. “I don’t really have time,” he demurred.

Maggie could see that. He was busy; he had a lot on his plate. “Well, then, what about that Christmas party? Free food. Sister Bernadette is making gingersnaps. Thurgood Marshall discussions optional.”

“Her gingersnaps are great,” Matthew allowed. “But Frank, they really want him to come and he might not want to.” There was a hint of that anxiety again.

Maggie said firmly, “Don’t let the children’s expectations stop you from doing what you want to do. If Frank doesn’t want to come, that’s his choice. You could ask him, though, maybe mention the gingersnaps.”

Matthew shook his head, his brows still lowered. “Maybe. I don’t think it’s his thing, though.”

Maggie sat up a little as an idea occurred to her, though she had to make sure of something before she asked. “Everything okay with Frank?”

“Yeah, just… Christmas. Presents. He’s not exactly the easiest guy to shop for.”

Was that all that was troubling him? Maggie doubted it, but that was at least a reassuring, _normal_ sort of worry. “I’m not going to ask about his hobbies…”

“Yeah, no. I’m not getting him ammo for Christmas. He likes to read, but a book seems…”

“Not romantic enough? It depends on the book.”

“Romantic,” Matthew echoed, making a wry face.

“What, Frank doesn’t like romance?”

Matthew curled his hands around his mug. “Huh. I’m not sure, actually. We’ve never really… done romance.”

“Well, to each their own.” Maggie hesitated, then said, “Actually, maybe Frank could help me with an issue we’re having regarding the party.” Matthew made a noise of inquiry, and Maggie said, “We need a Santa.”

Matthew actually laughed. “And you want Frank to do it?” Waving in the general direction the children had taken, he said, “Those three would recognize him.”

“Those three don’t believe in Santa,” Maggie said, with a small sigh. “It would be more for the little ones. Sammy and Pablo and Alex could probably be persuaded to keep their knowledge to themselves.”

Matthew made a short clicking sound with his tongue, perhaps as he pondered the likelihood of the children’s silence. “Threats or bribery? Or, well, we _are_ Catholic; there’s always guilt. That’s assuming Frank even agrees to it, which… don’t hold your breath.”

Maggie pondered just what would be the best way to convince the children. “Appeal to their desire to be grown-up. Since they’re older, they can help the little ones believe.”

“So… guilt,” Matthew teased, and Maggie made a noise of acknowledgment.

“And probably bribery as well. After all, it’s Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Matthew agreed, his voice gone soft. “Probably won’t take a lot. Orphanage kids have low expectations.”

“Well, then, that’s why the Christmas party needs to be better than they could ever hope for,” Maggie said. “Who knows if the donor will provide again next year, so we might as well go all out.”

“Will there be presents?” Matthew asked, now looking a little thoughtful.

“Not a lot, but yes, each child will get a gift.”

Matthew nodded. “Maybe Nelson and Murdock could spare some money for the kids.” Maggie hadn’t realized that the firm was doing well enough that they could provide charitable donations, but she wouldn’t object. Matthew added, “And I know a guy who has a soft spot for orphans. I’ll bet he’d contribute, too.”

“Well, if you’re providing money, you should come to the party to find out how we used it. Your, ah, guy too, if he likes.” Maggie didn’t ask, though she was curious as to who he might be. Matthew was in a relationship with the Punisher; who else might he know?

“Uh, no. He’s not _my_ guy, but maybe he’d come. I’ll pass on the offer.”

“And if Frank doesn’t want to be Santa, or even to come to the party, that’s fine. I could suggest it if you’d rather.”

Matthew shook his head, his lips curving. “So you could try guilt or bribery or threats? No, thank you. I’ll ask him, but if he doesn’t want to come, I’m not pushing it. He already went to Foggy and Marci’s for Thanksgiving.”

Maggie nodded, remembering Matthew’s concern over how his friends would react to Frank, and his relief when the meal had gone well. “All right. Just let me know.” She did have other options, after all; she just thought that being Santa could do Frank good, as well as helping out the orphanage.

They passed a little while in conversation that was mostly pleasant, only occasionally awkward, and then Matthew got to his feet.

“Take some cookies for Frank,” Maggie offered, getting up as well and locating a container.

“Bribery.” But Matthew took them anyway, with a smile and a thankyou.

“Of course. See you on Sunday?”

Matthew nodded, and for a moment looked like he was going to say something more. Maggie waited, but he just exhaled a soft breath, turned, and left.

Maggie looked after him with a sigh of her own. She packed away the cookies before more children found them, but not before she had taken one more for herself.

* * *

Matt shivered a little as he stepped out of St. Agnes and into the chilly night air. Talking with Maggie and being around the kids had been a relatively relaxing ending to a long day. Well, no, the day wasn’t over yet. Frank was coming over; Matt quickened his pace, so he could be sure to get home before Frank.

His cell phone rang with the generic tone that signaled somebody not in his contacts. He almost let it go to voicemail, but the possibility that it could be a client made him sigh and take the call.

“Hello?” He should be more professional, really, but he was tired.

“Matt?”

Matt didn’t recognize the voice. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

Silence came from the other end of the line, then a raspy inhalation. “Are you really him, or were you just fucking around?”

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of dumbass dresses up like -?” The call cut out in a burst of static that made Matt wince and pull the phone away from his ear; by the time he’d risked listening again, the call had gone silent. He wanted to check the number, but of course, that wasn’t possible; it’s not like he’d recognize it. Every number he knew went into his contacts list, so his phone could tell him who was calling.

Well, maybe it was a wrong number. Matt wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, after all. And it beat someone calling to tell him that his Windows system had been compromised. Being called a dumbass was novel, at least on the phone.

Matt put away his phone and tucked his free hand back in his pocket, his other hand gripping his cane. If he hurried, he could pick up some ramen from KungFu Kitchen and still get home before Frank. Matt got out his phone again and called in the order, walking a little faster. If Frank was anywhere as cold as he was, he’d appreciate the warmth of the broth.

The order was ready in good time, and Matt was pleased, as he approached his building, to take note of a familiar heartbeat. “You should have gone inside,” Matt said. The door creaked as Frank opened it for him.

“Didn’t want Fran coming out to ask what I was doing in the hall. Don’t think she likes me much.” Still, Frank sounded amused.

“Could you -” Matt extended the takeout bag and said thanks as Frank took it, then got his key and opened the door.

Frank made his way to the kitchen and Matt folded up his cane and dropped it on the table by the door, loosening his tie as he followed Frank.

He’d already gotten out bowls; they thunked lightly against the counter. “KungFu Kitchen?”

“Yeah.” Matt rubbed his thumb along the little divot on the counter, smoothed and all but invisible to anybody who didn’t know it was there. He liked that he could still touch it, though; it was a tactile memory of a good day. “With the cold, I thought it might be nice.”

“It’s good. Spicy one yours?” Matt nodded and Frank slid the bowl over to him. “Maggie okay?”

“Yes - oh, she sent you some cookies.”

Frank exhaled a short, amused sound as he took the container from Matt. “She sent me _cookies_? She make them?”

Matt tried to remember if Maggie had ever made cookies. “Sister Bernadette. They’re good. They’re snickerdoodles.”

“What the hell kind of name for a cookie is that?” Still, Frank crunched on a cookie before taking his soup to a seat; Matt followed. “Good, though.”

“No clue where the name came from. And, yeah, Sister Bernadette makes the best cookies.” He started in on his soup, enjoying the heat of it.

Frank’s spoon clinked. “What I’m wondering -” He paused for a mouthful of his soup. “- is why she’s sending them to me instead of keeping them for the kids.”

“To be fair, the nuns usually have a stash of cookies for themselves.”

“Nuns hoard cookies?” Frank exhaled a short laugh. “That is the best thing I’ve heard all day. But still, why not keep ’em for themselves? She want something?”

Matt should have known that Frank would be suspicious, though at least he didn’t sound upset or annoyed, just vaguely amused. “Uh.”

“Thought so. What is it?”

“Well, there was talk from the kids about you not coming to mass, though Maggie said she didn’t put them up to that. I said you were busy.”

“The kids are asking about why I’m not at mass?”

“Catholic orphanage. They notice. But also I think it’s more that Pablo wants to see you than that they’re concerned for the state of your soul.”

“Huh. I don’t get that kid. But mass, eh. Not really my thing, y’know?”

Matt nodded, though half his attention was on his noodles. Lunch had been squeezed in between meetings; he didn’t even remember what he had eaten. “Yeah, it’s fine. God sees you whether you go to mass or not.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

Matt smiled. “Not really. God knows why you do what you do, and, well -” He’d rather Frank didn’t kill people. Of course. But at least Frank killed bad people, and if there ever were good reasons to kill people, Frank had them.

“You really think I’m going to heaven?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Killing was wrong, commandment-level wrong, but Matt _knew_ Frank, knew he was _good_. But it wasn’t like he could tell Frank to repent, to change his ways. So he just shrugged and replied, “Nobody is beyond redemption.”

There was another of those soft, amused exhalations from Frank. “Which means, not the way I’m going now.”

Well, no. Frank wasn’t concerned with the state of his soul; Matt knew that. Frank was concerned with the state of their city, and Matt understood that, even agreed with him. But if it came to choosing between his soul and his city… well. Matt would do what he could do without killing and hope he would never be pushed beyond that.

“Don’t worry about answering that, Red,” Frank said, and Matt realized that he’d been too busy thinking - and eating - to reply. “I know how it is for you, and if there’s a heaven, you’ll end up there. But I’m still going to do things the way I do them, and that means no mass. At least, not most days. But if the kid wants me to visit -” Matt heard that note of incredulity that some kid would want to see him, Frank Castle, the Punisher. “- well, I can come up with a way to do that.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

“Shit.”

“I didn’t answer this one on your behalf, but the orphanage is having a Christmas party.”

“Aw, hell no.”

“And Maggie said she’d love it if you could come. She said to mention Sister Bernadette’s gingersnaps, which are really good.”

“Is that penance for not coming to mass?”

“Nuns don’t give penance. And, uh, she asked if you could dress up.”

“What, like my dress uniform? Seems like a lot for a kids’ party.”

While Matt absolutely liked the idea of Frank all dressed up, he shook his head. “Uh, as Santa Claus.”

There was a long silence from Frank. Matt had on occasion wished that he could see. He would have loved to see Foggy or Karen or Maggie, and of course Frank. But just then he would have appreciated being able to judge Frank’s reaction. His heart rate had picked up, but that didn’t give Matt the details of why. Was he pissed off? Amused? Outraged?

“Did you hit your head? Recently, I mean.”

“Not lately, no.”

“How about Maggie? The kids throw something at her, cause some serious head trauma?”

“No. Frank -”

“Because that’s the only reason I can think of for either of you to see me dressing up as Santa for a kids’ party as a good idea.”

Matt spooned the last bit of broth into his mouth and set aside his bowl. “I told her you wouldn’t want to do it.”

“It would be stupid for me to do it, anyway. Those three kids, they know who I am. And even a fake beard can’t disguise this nose.”

“They don’t believe in Santa. Maggie said she’d convince them not to tell.”

“They what?” The chair creaked as Frank got up, and then Matt heard spoons clanking as Frank took the bowls into the kitchen. “They don’t believe in Santa? But they’re little kids! How old are they?”

“I’m a bad judge of age,” Matt quipped as he trailed after Frank, who hmphed in response. “Seriously, though, I don’t know. Orphanage kids figure out stuff like that earlier. Or kids whose families are struggling. They notice when Santa brings a lot for other kids in their class, and they get socks - if they get anything. They’re not stupid.”

“Hey, easy.” And there was Frank’s hand on his arm: just for a moment, but warm and solid and enough to remind Matt that Frank was there.

“Sorry. I just -”

“You've got a soft spot for these kids, I get it.”

“What? I -” Matt was all set to deny it, to say that he certainly didn’t have a soft spot for _any_ kids, let alone those three hellraisers, but he realized that just wasn’t true. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Makes sense. You see yourself in them.” Frank turned on the water and, from the sound of it, washed the bowls and spoons before setting them in the dish rack.

“Well, metaphorically, but yeah. I’m just glad they got the donation for the Christmas party, otherwise there wouldn’t be a lot of celebrating for them. Midnight Mass is great, but not so much fun when you’re a kid.”

“Not so much fun when you’re an adult, either,” Frank muttered.

“Okay, yeah. It’s not fun, but it’s… meaningful. Even when I was a kid, I loved Midnight Mass. There were candles - even after the accident, I could smell them - and I was never completely awake. Everything had kind of a haze to it, and it just felt… special.” Matt wasn’t sure he was expressing himself well, but it was difficult to explain how he felt about Midnight Mass. Even now, without a kid’s excitement over the holiday, it was special.

“You,” Frank observed, though not without fondness, “were a weird little kid. I mostly slept through Midnight Mass when I was little. But it’s good the orphanage kids get a party. Who donated the cash?”

“Maggie didn’t say. But I thought I’d see if Foggy would be okay with Nelson and Murdock adding to it, and maybe talk to Danny. They weren’t sure if the donation was a one-time thing, and maybe Danny could set something up so they could have a party every year.”

“Nelson will say yes,” Frank said, sounding sure of himself. “It takes a special kind of asshole to say no to orphaned kids at Christmas.”

Matt didn’t say anything, but let Frank realize what he’d said. Though to be fair it had been Matt asking for Maggie asking on behalf of the kids, but the point was still there.

“Aw, hell,” Frank said, sounding resigned.

“You don’t have to,” Matt assured him.

“Yeah, I do. They’re orphaned kids at Christmas. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of an asshole.”

Matt leaned back against the counter, trying not to smile. “I feel like there’s not a safe answer to that statement. But you really don’t have to, Frank.”

Frank settled against the counter next to Matt, their shoulders touching. “Yeah, I do,” Frank said, his voice gone soft.

“Well. Thank you. I’ll let Maggie know, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

“Once she recovers from the heart attack when she hears I said yes.” Frank paused, then, and his smile was audible as he said, “Tell Nelson and get Karen to take a picture of his face, okay?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, Foggy’s doing better. He asked about you today.”

Frank scoffed. “What did he ask -” Here he did what Matt assumed was his Foggy imitation, which was amusingly awful. “- Did Castle shoot up the place yet?”

Well, considering the police log, reports of Frank shooting up places would not be entirely inaccurate, but Matt only said, “How you’re doing, all that. He said we’re welcome to come to Nelson Family Christmas, but I think that would be too much.”

“Don’t think his family would like me?” Frank’s voice held a certain stiffness.

Matt shifted around so that he was in front of Frank and then brought his hands up to rest on Frank’s shoulders. “They’d love you, but it’s an extended family thing. _Really_ extended. Hell, I don’t know half the people who show up, and I’ve been going most Christmases since Columbia. Besides,” he added, leaning in a little bit closer, enjoying the way Frank’s usually steady heartbeat quickened. “I’d rather have it be just us.”

“So, what, happy birthday Jesus - or what passes for his birthday - and then we go take out some bad guys?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay.” Frank inhaled a deep breath and let it out. “That sounds good.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Holidays didn’t hold the same familial associations for Matt that they seemed to for Frank. He had some memories of Christmases and other holidays with his father, of course, and even vague memories of his grandmother, but holidays for Matt more often meant friends or God or just another day.

Maybe he and Frank could start something new. And now there was Maggie in the picture as well.

It felt a little strange, the prospect of spending time around the holiday with family and with - well, whatever Frank was. But it was good.

* * *

The Monday before Christmas, Matt and Frank came to a halt two blocks away from their destination. Matt, having finished early at work, had suggested they deal with the situation.

“You do recon?” Frank asked, his voice low.

Matt shook his head. “Their schedule is pretty predictable. They’re never around this time of day.”

“You sure? I don’t want to fuck this up, Red.”

“Pretty sure.”

“Okay. Get moving.”

Matt smiled. “Just act casual. Nobody will notice.” He wanted to take Frank’s arm as they walked, but they both needed to be able to move quickly.

A block away from their destination, Matt did grab Frank’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “I hear someone.”

“It’s Hell’s Kitchen. People live here.”

Matt made a face. “No, _listen_.”

Frank fell silent, and Matt felt his sigh, knew he heard at least part of what Matt had heard. “Shit. What are we going to do now?”

Matt thought for a moment and then said, “We need to get eyes in there.” He fumbled in his pocket and then offered his phone to Frank. “I don’t want to do it out loud, but the number’s in there.”

Frank took the phone, but asked, “One of them has a phone?”

“Yeah, a burner, and she insisted on putting her number in my phone. Not sure how she did it or how long she’ll have it, but it works for us. Can you call?”

Matt heard the buzz of the electronics and then Frank shoved the phone back into his hand.

“Hello?” came the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?”

“Sitting on the back step.”

“Why? Don’t you have school?”

“It’s Christmas vacation. No school for the rest of the year.”

“Christmas vacation,” Matt repeated, and he heard Frank’s very quiet profanity. “Okay, are there a lot of other kids there?”

“Yeah. Where else would we go?”

Thinking fast, Matt asked, “Can you get everybody out front? Maybe a game or something?”

“I guess, yeah. Why?”

"I’ll tell you later, okay?

“Okay. It’ll take a couple minutes.”

“Thanks, kid.” He ended the call and turned toward Frank. “Sammy’s got it under control. Just give her a few minutes.”

“Never thought I’d be conspiring with a kid,” Frank muttered, though he sounded amused.

“Hey, if it gets us in there without those kids seeing you, it’s worth it.” Matt listened until the direction of the noise changed, and then nodded. “I think we’re good.” He started for the orphanage once more, Frank at his side. They slowed their pace as they approached the building, but no kids were hanging around the back entrance. “Okay, we’ll slip in this way and then go to the laundry room. The kids won’t be caught dead there. Then I’ll get Maggie.”

“Got it.”

They fit actions to words, and soon enough Matt and Maggie came back into the room, Maggie with the rustly garment bag over her arm.

“All right, you should fit into the outfit just fine, but let’s make sure.”

“What?” Frank asked, sounding a little startled.

“I have to stay in here,” Maggie said. “The kids will get suspicious if I’m in and out of here too much. I’ll turn my back, and I’m sure you don’t have anything that Matthew - well, _hasn’t_ seen, but you get my point.”

“Maggie,” Matt protested.

“What, are you the only one who can make blind jokes?”

“That’s not what I -” Matt cut off his words. He was pretty sure she wasn’t laughing at him, but that she was close to it.

“It’s fine,” Frank said, and Matt heard him take the garment bag from Maggie.

“How did you get him to agree to it?” Maggie asked, her voice quiet. “You seemed pretty sure he’d say no.”

“He talked himself into it,” Matt replied with a shrug. “He’s a good person.”

“Never said he wasn’t.”

“This is a small room,” Frank said; perhaps aware of the possibility of children lurking in the hallway, he also spoke quietly. “And I can hear what you’re saying.”

Maggie made an amused hmph. “Good thing we were just saying positive things, then. Are you finished?”

“Just about. Yeah, you can turn around.”

Matt - well, he couldn’t picture it, of course, but he could imagine the general idea of a Santa suit on what he guessed Frank looked like. “How is it?”

“The legs are too long, but I can take care of that. Don’t want Santa Frank here to trip on anything.”

“Santa Frank,” Matt repeated, trying desperately not to smile.

“Yeah, on second thought, don’t tell Nelson I’m doing this. Or Karen. They’d never let me live it down. Santa Frank, hell.”

“You’re doing a good thing,” Maggie said, her voice gentle. “And we appreciate it.” Of course, the moment couldn’t last too long; she added briskly, “I’m finished. You can get back into your clothes. I’ll hem the pants and then give the outfit to Matthew.”

“What will you tell the kids if they ask what it is?”

A shrug audible in her voice, Maggie replied, “That it’s a suit I hemmed. No need to lie.”

“Yeah, you can just tell _part_ of the truth,” Matt agreed.

“No need for sarcasm.”

“Wow, coming from _you?_ ”

“Okay, enough bickering,” Frank said, though he sounded amused. “Sister, here’s the costume. Can you make sure there aren’t any kids out there, so we can sneak out?”

“Give me a moment; Matthew will be able to hear.”

The door closed behind Maggie with a soft click and then Matt felt Frank’s hand rest lightly on his back. Matt leaned into his touch. “Hey, thanks for doing this. The costume thing, Santa Frank, everything.”

“Yeah, you can stop calling me Santa Frank right now.”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh, though he agreed, “All right. But the kids will love it, and it’s a big help for the nuns. Oh, she’s shooing them all out front. Let’s go.” Matt curled a hand around Frank’s arm, giving his bicep a squeeze, and then the two of them stepped out of the laundry room and then out the back door.

“Hey,” came a hissed voice when they had gotten a few feet away from the back door.

“Just keep walking,” Frank suggested, but Matt paused.

“It’s Sammy. We can’t stay,” he added, turning as the footsteps drew closer.

“Thought it was you, when Sister made us all leave. At least I got everybody to play a game. She’s making them look for trash to pick up.”

His voice dry, Frank asked, “So nobody would think anything was up if _Sister Maggie_ said everybody should go play a game?”

Sammy laughed and said, “Okay, yeah. But why are you here? And why are you being all sneaky?”

“We can’t tell,” Frank replied.

“Is it something about the party, and you being Santa?” Frank made an exasperated noise, and Sammy added, sounding unconcerned, “Sister told us so Pablo wouldn’t freak out when he saw you. Just be careful about Joey. He’s little and he pees when he gets excited.”

Frank leaned in to whisper in Matt’s ear, his voice an appealing rumble, “You owe me.”

“I absolutely do,” Matt agreed. “Sammy, we’ve got to run before they find all the trash, but we’ll see you at the party. And thanks for your help.”

“Yeah, thanks, kid,” Frank echoed.

“Bye,” Sammy called, and the footsteps pounded away once more, followed by the slamming door and Sammy calling, “No trash there!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” Matt observed as they set off once more, and in fact, his foot brushed against what sounded like an aluminum can.

“She’s a smart kid,” Frank approved. “You know her story?”

“No. I… try not to ask. For any of them. If they want me to know, they will. They’re more than how they ended up in an orphanage.”

“Hey, didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No. Sorry. It’s just a sore spot. Orphanage kids.”

“I get it.” Frank was quiet for a few moments, but then he asked, “You ever think about adopting?”

Matt came to a halt. “One of those kids? Frank, no. That would be a disaster for so many reasons.” He made a small noise of exasperation, aware that he was expressing himself poorly. “Not that adopting one of them would be a disaster, aside from hurting the feelings of the others. They’re good kids. But me adopting? _That_ would be a disaster. And that’s assuming the powers that be would let me, which they wouldn’t.”

Frank started walking once more and Matt, not wanting to release his arm, fell into step with him. “They wouldn’t? Successful lawyer?”

“Blind,” Matt replied, the word bitter in his mouth. “With a shitty schedule, an apartment that wouldn’t be big enough, and that’s not even taking into account the night job.”

“You wouldn’t tell them about the night job,” Frank said as they reached Matt’s building.

“Obviously, but the kid would know. And I don’t want -” Matt cut off his words. There were many things he didn’t want: for a kid to have to patch up his injuries, for a kid to wake up in an empty apartment. For a kid to wonder if this was the night his dad wasn’t going to make it home and then to run outside, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it _was_ that night. He realized that his breathing had gone ragged and tried to calm it, but to no avail.

“Hey. Hey.” Frank fumbled in Matt’s jacket pocket for his keys and then opened the door, leading the way into his apartment. Matt automatically dropped his cane on the table and started to walk away - anywhere, away - but Frank caught at his arm. “Hey,” he repeated. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He was. His breathing had evened out. See? Fine.

Frank made a noise that suggested he didn’t believe Matt. “You don’t want to talk about it, fine,” he said with a hint of irony in his voice, possibly for his word choice. “But you telling me you’re fine when you obviously aren’t? Well… guess that’s normal for you.” Frank let go of his arm and moved to sit on the couch.

“Okay,” Matt said, a little relieved that Frank wasn’t pushing the issue.

“You’re still shit at communicating.”

Matt bit back a sigh. “I am.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There are just some things that are harder to say. I don’t talk about them to anybody, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not really. Something got you all twisted up inside, sometimes talking helps.”

Matt made his way to sit on the couch, not right next to Frank but not on the opposite end, either. “Well, if I feel like talking about it, you’ll be the first to know.”

Because, really, who else could he talk to about his father. Maggie? Hardly. Karen had Daddy Issues of her own, so she probably wouldn’t be the best choice. And Foggy would just try to make him feel better, which was nice but not really helpful. Foggy, with his huge, supportive family, wouldn’t understand.

Frank didn’t say anything in response to Matt’s words, but he did slide closer, his warmth and his even heartbeat a reassuring presence. “Tell me about your father,” Matt said, his voice low.

“My father. Well, y’know, he was older when I was born. Always wanted a kid to play ball with, y’know, but by the time I came around, he wasn’t up for much. Him and my mother both. So I pretty much did what I wanted.”

Matt settled down on the couch, letting his head rest against Frank’s shoulder. “Huh. Why does that not surprise me?”

“They tried Catholic school, but that didn’t work, either.” Frank was quiet for a moment, then added, “Thought about becoming a priest when I was older, though.”

“Yeah?” Matt kept his tone even despite his surprise. The more he thought about it, though, the more sense it made.

“I wanted, y’know, to make the world a better place. For a while, I thought the priesthood was the way to do it. But it didn’t feel like it was… enough. So I joined the Marines.”

“Seems like a logical transition.” Matt grinned when Frank elbowed his side.

“It did to me. But I was a dumb kid.”

“I really can’t picture you as a priest,” Matt observed. He settled a little more firmly against Frank, with an approving mumble when Frank shifted to put an arm around him. “Bless me, Father Frank, for I have sinned.”

“Already?” Frank said, his tone dryly amused. “It’s not even four yet.”

“Nah, just trying it out to see how it sounded. I’m glad you’re not a priest, though.”

“Yeah, me, too. You’ve got enough Catholic guilt for the both of us.”

“Hey.”

“Please. Like you can deny that.” Frank stopped talking, clearly waiting, and Matt muttered a vague acknowledgment before Frank added, “Besides, the priesthood would have made it less likely that I would commit a couple kinds of sins that I’d miss.”

“Yeah?” Matt couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh, you think I was talking about you?”

But Frank’s arm tightened around him for a moment, and Matt knew he was right.

* * *

Frank was pretty sure this was one of the weirdest things he’d ever done in a church. He adjusted the padding one more time and then pulled on the coat.

It was a good coat, he’d give the nuns that. Red and plush and… hot. No wonder Santa had red cheeks.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. He wasn’t entirely sure what room he was in; he’d just gone where he was told, so he could get changed. “Yeah?”

“Ready for the beard?”

Red had gone over to the orphanage and the party, as he had worried that maybe some of the kids had seen him and Frank together, so Maggie had offered to be his escort. She didn’t _say_ that she was keeping him from taking off, but it was implied.

But Frank wasn’t going to take off, even though he was a little worried about the kid who might pee. He’d said he was going to do it, so he would.

“Ready for the beard.”

Maggie eased the door open. “Huh. I think the padding works. Can’t have a skinny Santa.” She eyed Frank, then gestured toward a chair.

He sat and Maggie fitted the fluffy, white beard to his face, her hands careful. He gave it a brief tug, but whatever she had done had made it stick.

“Good,” Maggie said. “Now the hat. Handy that your hair’s short.” The hat had a white wig attached somehow, and then Maggie offered him a pair of glasses. “No prescription.”

He put them on. “This really is a good costume.”

“Matthew’s friend provided it. Danny, I think. It is, though. You really do look like Santa.”

“… thanks.”

Maggie studied him, her expression assessing, and Frank was expecting her to adjust something on the costume. But she didn’t, just saying, “You make Matthew happy.”

“I try.”

“He doesn’t always make it easy.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile, and the beard stayed in place. “No.”

“So… thank you.” Frank stared at Maggie, surprised by the sentimentality, but then she was all business as she turned back to the door. “Let’s get you over to the orphanage before the kids riot. You have the bag?” Frank nodded, hefting the heavy, red sack over one shoulder. “All right, Santa. After you. I’ll bring your clothes and put them in the laundry room.” She tucked his clothes into a bag that she had apparently brought for that purpose; Frank, not wanting to walk home in the Santa costume, had asked for somewhere to change.

Fortunately, the orphanage was close enough to the church that Frank got between the buildings without being spotted by anybody. He took a deep breath as Maggie opened the door.

It was… well, it was chaos. Christmas carols played from somebody’s phone, but most of the noise came from the kids. Frank tried what he hoped was a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho,” but the children’s noise just intensified, with added shrieks of, _It’s Santa!_

“That’s enough.”

Frank never would have thought he’d be grateful for a nun, but at that moment there was very little he wouldn’t do for Sister Maggie.

“Everybody, quiet down and give Santa some room,” Maggie continued, and the noise level dropped immediately. “Michael, Joshua, get off that chair.” Two kids, presumably Michael and Joshua, scrambled down from a big, padded chair.

Well, at least Frank would be comfortable when that kid peed on him. He glanced around the crowd and there was Red, talking to some curly-haired blond guy. Red must have felt Frank looking; he lifted a cookie in salute, the little shit.

Frank made his way to the chair and sat down. Maggie had run through the itinerary. He would distribute the presents and then, God help him, the kids would sing Christmas carols.

The kids, unsurprisingly, all crowded around, and Maggie once more made them back off. It wasn’t too bad, though. They were excited and happy, and Frank felt good about helping to make it happen.

A cluster of older kids at the back lacked the shrillness of the littler ones, their excitement tempered to a wary hopefulness. One of them - Pablo, right - caught Frank’s eye and gave him a big grin, proclaiming, “This is the best Santa ever.”

The smaller kids chorused their agreement, and Frank reached for the bag. “I’m sure you’ve all been good boys and girls. Let’s see what I have here in my bag.”

He was pretty sure that Red wasn’t laughing at him. Maggie, on the other hand… but Frank was doing his best. If he didn’t have a great, booming Santa voice, the kids didn’t seem to mind. Each of them came up when Frank called their name. Some of them volunteered that they had been good that year, usually causing the other kids to guffaw. The second time that happened, Frank sat up a little straighter, and the kids quieted right down.

“You kids, you’re all doing your best, right?”

They all nodded, and there were one or two replies of, “Yes, Santa.”

“That’s all anybody can ask, that you do your best. Okay? So when, y’know, your buddies are trying, you don’t need to laugh at them. Okay?”

This time, more kids called, “Yes, Santa!”

Frank happened to look over to where Red was standing in the back, still with that blond guy; Red nodded and smiled and Frank felt like maybe this whole Santa thing wasn’t so awful. He wouldn’t want to do it every day, but maybe once in a while.

“We’ve still got a couple more presents and then you guys are going to sing for me, right?” This time, the response was enthusiastic, and Frank grinned as he reached into his bag. The presents were dwindling, but the kids had been happy with what they got; the quality of the gifts was actually really good, and Frank wondered how many people Red had gotten to donate.

Finally, the last gift was given, and nobody had peed on Frank, so he called it a success. The last kid, a little boy named Luis who seemed thrilled with his toy robot, sidled up to Frank as the nuns were organizing the kids into lines to sing.

“Are you the real Santa?”

Frank replied with the answer he usually used when his own kids had asked him tough questions like that. “What do you think?”

Luis shook his head, his expression serious.

“Okay, why not?”

“It’s Christmas Eve. Isn’t Santa really busy on Christmas Eve?”

Frank looked around for his backup, but Maggie was herding kids and he couldn’t spot Red. Shit.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “Yeah, that’s true. But sometimes Santa needs helpers, y’know?” Luis nodded, and Frank continued, “Santa really wanted to be here today, but you’re right. He’s really busy. But he wanted you kids to have something special.”

Luis hugged his robot close, not quite looking at Frank ask he asked, “Because our moms and dads are gone?”

Frank felt his throat tighten. “Because you’re good kids who got a bad deal.”

Luis nodded. He looked about to say something, but then one of the nuns called, “Luis, we’re waiting.”

Luis stood there for a second longer, then darted in to hug Frank. He was gone before Frank could respond, hurrying over to his spot in line.

The singing was… well, a bunch of kids singing. It was awful, but Frank nodded and smiled and the other adults in attendance did the same. Mercifully, they only sang two songs, but Frank wondered what had possessed the nuns to choose _Away in a Manger_. The pitch kept sliding the longer the kids sang, and they sang more verses than Frank had known existed.

It did end eventually, though, and Maggie said, “Well done, everyone.” Wow, Frank didn’t think nuns could lie so blatantly. “Now say goodbye to Santa; he needs to be going.”

The kids all called their farewells. The youngest one broke first; he rushed from the line to hug Frank, and then it was like a flood. Even the older ones, who knew who he was, joined in, and Frank did his best to hug all of them. What else could he do? Orphans at Christmas, and he wasn’t an asshole. Looking down at all the happy faces, Frank felt his throat tighten a little. Before that day, he couldn’t remember the last time a kid had hugged him.

Well, no. He could. But he didn’t want to think about that day, about Lisa’s squeal of delight when she’d heard they were going to the carousel, about the way she’d thrown herself into his arms. So Frank didn’t say anything, just hugged the kids.

He was pretty sure that he heard the sound of someone’s phone taking a picture. Probably Maggie, as she soon came to herd the children away. She and a few other nuns distracted the children so Frank was able to duck down a hallway and into the laundry room.

He pulled off the coat with some relief and was grateful to see that Maggie had left the bag. Changing clothes quickly, he carefully pulled off the beard and zipped it and the costume into the garment bag. He tucked the bag in a closet at the back of the room. It would be bad if a kid found it, after all.

Exhaling a sigh, Frank sank into the room’s lone chair. He hadn’t enjoyed the evening, not specifically, but it felt like a job well done.

After a minute or two, the door eased open. Frank looked up sharply but then relaxed as Red came through the door and right to his side. “Thank you,” he said, and damn if his voice wasn't husky in a way that Frank found suspicious. “You helped give those kids a great night.” He didn’t even let Frank reply, but leaned down and kissed him.

Of course, Frank responded in kind, lifting his hands to pull Red closer. With him sitting and Red standing, Red’s ass was easiest to grab, and things were definitely getting interesting when Frank pulled back just a bit. “We’re in an orphanage. And a bunch of nuns and kids and your mother are… well, you can hear them, right?” Wasn’t that distracting? Though Red really didn’t seem distracted. Maybe he got used to blocking out that sort of thing.

“Mm,” Red agreed. “We don’t have to stay here, though.”

“True,” Frank agreed. “Hear any kids right outside?”

“No.” Red grabbed Frank’s hand and pulled. Obligingly, Frank got out of the chair; the two of them slipped out of the room and then left the orphanage.

The cold night air went right through Frank, and he thought maybe the big Santa coat wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“So I was okay as Santa?”

Red gave Frank’s hand a squeeze. “You were great. The kids loved you. Danny was telling me about their faces.”

“Nah, it was the presents,” Frank replied. “Danny that guy you were standing with?”

“Hey, it wasn’t the presents.” Frank made a skeptical noise and Red amended, “Not _just_ the presents. Yeah, that’s Danny. He donated some money, and is going to make it an annual thing for the kids.”

“Good. The nuns will like that.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed. “And the kids.”

“The costume was good. Kinda warm, though.”

“I think Danny provided it. He really got into it, liked the idea of helping out the kids.”

Frank grinned. “Maybe he can be Santa next year, yeah?” Red shook his head, looking amused, and Frank added, “Hey, since I wore the red suit, maybe you can start wearing the one I got you.” He meant, of course, the body armor he’d gotten Red right after they’d gotten together. Red had worn it for Halloween, but not since then.

“Frank.” The smile left Red’s face and Frank felt a little bit like a jerk, but he also worried. One of these days, Red was going to get seriously hurt.

“Okay, so the suit’s not for you. Maybe I can get something else. At least a vest, yeah?”

“Would mine have a devil painted on it?” He was probably teasing, but at least he wasn’t just saying no, which he had every other time Frank had brought up the subject.

“Hey, whatever you want.”

It wasn’t a no. Frank would take what he could get.

Their brisk walking, inspired at least in Frank’s part by the chilly wind, soon brought them to Red’s place. Red finally let go of Frank’s hand to open the door; he absently offered his cane and Frank took it, then put it in its spot on the table when they got into the apartment.

“Hey, you going to mass tonight?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. Christmas Eve, Midnight Mass. I like going. We can still go out afterward, though. It ends at midnight, so there’s time.”

“Nah,” Frank replied, and Red did that head-tilt thing like he wasn’t sure how to reply. “Thought I’d go with you. Don’t get used to it,” he hastened to add, seeing Red smile. “I’m not changing my stripes. I just figured, like you said, Christmas Eve. Midnight Mass.” Red was still smiling at him like a fucking idiot, so Frank added, “And then we go find those guys, the ones who were causing problems at the bodega.”

“And we don’t kill them.”

“Okay,” Frank replied. “It’s Christmas, after all.” Well, that and the bodega assholes needed a good scare more than anything else. Maybe some minor injuries. But killing them would be overdoing it, considering their offenses.

Shit. Red was getting to him.

But it was Christmas.

* * *

Matt closed his eyes as he sat next to Frank, the heavy scent of the incense overwhelming his senses. Maybe he swayed a little in his seat, as Frank leaned over to ask, “Y’okay?”

“Fine,” Matt replied as he opened his eyes, ignoring Frank’s snort in response. “Glad you’re here.”

Frank hummed an amused sound, but Matt guessed he was repeating _don’t get used to it_ once more, as he had at least two times earlier that evening.

Okay, maybe Matt was too excited about having Frank there. It wasn’t like Matt was expecting Frank to turn over a new leaf and decide that he wouldn’t kill any more people, but at least he’d agreed not to kill anybody that night.

It was a step in the right direction.

Hearing Frank’s low, rumbling voice saying the responses along with him added to the contented feeling that Midnight Mass tended to inspire in him. His faith had taken a beating in the past, so to speak, but it felt right to be sitting in Clinton Church as Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day. The people there were his community, part of his city; having Frank there made a good day better.

The mass came to an end and Matt and Frank wended their way to the exit, exchanging holiday greetings as they went, but a familiar presence made Matt detour.

“Merry Christmas, Matthew, Frank,” Maggie greeted them.

“Merry Christmas,” Matt echoed.

“Sister, I would like to point out that I’m not seeing any of your kids here, and I hear that they were talking about me not coming to mass.”

“It’s midnight,” Maggie replied, “Hopefully, they’re all asleep. But I’ll let them know you were here. They’ll be happy.”

“If the kids are up and know it’s Christmas, it’s pretty much impossible to wind them back down,” Matt observed, with a nostalgic smile.

He’d been the only kid to get caught sneaking out of the orphanage to go to Midnight Mass. Father Lantom had been the one to find him. He’d just said, “Matthew,” in a voice that sounded amused and kind of tired, then had gotten Matt settled in a pew.

“I’d appreciate that,” Frank replied.

“It’s good seeing you here.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Matt quipped.

“Yeah, thanks,” Frank muttered. “I should get points for earlier, though.”

“If faith was points-based, you would,” Maggie replied, sounding amused. “But yes, thank you. Did you hear we’re having the party again next year, thanks to Matthew’s friend?”

“Yeah. That’s great for the kids.”

“Maybe I’ll wait until next Thanksgiving to ask you about helping out again.”

“I’ll start thinking of my answer.”

One of the other parishioners called Maggie and she excused herself, and Matt and Frank made their way back to Matt’s place. Matt briefly thought about just falling into bed with Frank, an even better end to the night, but no. Frank had wanted to go find those assholes who had been trashing the bodega. It had been bad enough when they’d broken in and messed the place up, but when Prasad had caught them in the act, they’d put him in the hospital. And then they’d come back the next night and robbed Prasad’s son. Clearly, they needed to be dealt with.

They’d heard where the thugs had holed up and figured that they wouldn’t be expecting anybody to track them down on Christmas. Matt went into the bedroom to pull off his suit and put on his Daredevil gear. Frank made a soft “huh” noise but, from the sounds of it, changed as well.

“You good?” Frank asked as Matt finished with his Muay Thai ropes.

“Yeah. This’ll be quick, then we can take it easy.”

“Good.”

“And no shooting anybody,” Matt added, as he heard Frank take out a gun from the lockbox he now kept at Matt’s.

“Thought you said no killing. I can shoot somebody without killing them.”

Matt sighed. “Frank.”

“No, I really can, Red. I can shoot ’em good.”

Okay, Frank was teasing him. After all, Matt of all people definitely knew that Frank could shoot someone without killing them. Not that that was the best thing Frank could have mentioned, but Matt still smiled. “Can we try not to shoot anybody?”

Frank gave a theatrical sigh. “Okay, since it’s Christmas.”

“Thanks.”

They went out via the roof and made their way toward the place where they had been told they would encounter the thugs. Matt went first, reveling in the joy of leaping between buildings, moving fast, feeling the cold wind in his face.

He slowed when he heard someone call, “Hey, it’s Daredevil,” and then stopped when he realized that Frank had fallen behind. The voice was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it.

Later, Matt would curse himself for reacting. It was instinctive and stupid, but when someone on the street called, “Matt,” he reflexively turned toward the voice.

He turned and one of the people on the street let out a triumphant cry even as Matt smelled the gunpowder, heard the blast, and knew he was not going to get out of the way in time.

But, no, there was no searing pain; before he could reflect on his good fortune, he realized that the bullet had ricocheted off the building right behind his head and hit something. He wasn’t even sure what, but it must have been something metallic, as the sound it made went right through Matt… until all the sound stopped. Panic surged through Matt like a jolt of electricity and he gripped at his head, nearly pulling off his mask until he realized that doing so wouldn’t help.

Not again. He couldn’t live like that, his senses not working. _Limited_.

He turned, calling for Frank but not hearing himself, and stepped toward where he hoped Frank would be. The gunpowder scent increased; whoever they were, the people who _knew his name_ had shot again. Matt, not knowing where the bullet was coming from, twisted in what he thought was the right direction to avoid it. He stepped, but the roof wasn’t under his foot. Nothing was where it was supposed to be; the cold air, formerly refreshing, whipped at his face as he fell.

And then there was just the pain. He thought, as his consciousness faded, that maybe it was for the best. If he couldn’t hear, if his senses were gone, maybe this was how it should be.

* * *

Red was a little shit, running off ahead of Frank, showing off. Frank wasn’t going to go faster, though. If Red got to their destination ahead of him, he could just wait.

Oh, there he was slowing down, then stopping. Maybe he finally realized Frank wasn’t right behind him. There was a shout that Frank didn’t catch, but Red turned and then the silence of the night was broken by a gunshot.

Shit. Frank picked up his pace as Red _shouted_ his name, gripping his head. Had he been hit there? Frank didn’t bother to reply, saving his breath for running. Shit, why hadn’t he stayed with Red?

Whoever had shot at Red fired off one more round; this time, Red must have been hit, as he toppled off the roof.

Fuck. Frank felt a wash of cold fear rush over him. The roof was too high for Frank to just jump down, but he’d just passed a building with rooftop access. Keeping up a steady stream of cursing, Frank doubled back, yanking on the door only to find it locked. Fuck, fuck. He shot out the lock, then kicked open the door and bolted down the stairs.

Red had to be alive. He had to. Frank couldn’t face losing someone else.

Frank burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs and took a moment to get his bearings. He didn’t have to look long. There was Red, surrounded by a trio of lowlifes.

“… arm’s broke,” one was saying, as the other hefted a gun.

“Leave him alone,” Frank bellowed, getting off a shot of his own that scattered the pieces of filth before he tore down the alley to Red.

He’d meant to miss those assholes. Because Red wouldn’t have wanted Frank to kill them. That was it. It wasn't that his hand was shaking.

Red… wasn’t moving. Frank fell to his knees at Red’s side. Whoever the asshole was who said Red had a broken arm was right; he must have landed on it. Even with the Muay Thai ropes, it looked bent in a way that was definitely not right.

“Red.”

Nothing.

Frank fumbled at Red’s throat, but, yes, his pulse was there, good and strong.

Red inhaled sharply and grabbed at Frank’s hand with his own good hand, twisting in an attempt to do some sort of joint lock thing.

“Red, hey, it’s me.” Frank pulled his hand out of Red’s grip.

Red didn’t react to his words, but instead tried to hit Frank; he only managed a swipe at the air.

“Red,” Frank tried, more loudly, and Red stilled. He exhaled, the soft noise sounding relieved.

“Frank?” he said, his voice barely audible. He lifted a hand, trembling fingers splayed, and Frank brought the hand to his face. Red relaxed, though Frank still felt the tension in his hand, the way it still shook. “My hearing. I can hear, kind of. But not really.”

“I’m getting you out of here. Anything hurt besides your arm?”

“… fine,” Red whispered, and Frank muttered a curse. Of course, he said he was fine. Stupid idiot was always fine. Red struggled to his feet and then wavered, clearly struggling to stay upright. Frank grabbed his good arm and steadied him.

“You gonna make it home?”

“Yes.”

But it would obviously not happen without help. Red gripped Frank’s arm tightly with his good hand. “Stick to back streets,” he whispered. “Don’t want people to see.”

“You got it.”

Somehow, they managed to get back to Red’s place unobserved, but then the problems started.

“Give me your key.”

Red offered over a key. “No, not the roof door key, the… fuck. Okay, stay here.”

“Bet you wish that you hadn’t told me to get rid of the spare behind the radiator.”

“You’re brilliant. Shut up.”

“I can make it to the roof.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine. Stay.”

“… not a dog.”

But he did stay, and Frank went to the rooftop and got in that way.

Red was still there when he opened the door, leaning precariously against the door jamb.

“Hearing any better?”

“Little bit.”

Red took Frank’s arm and Frank guided him to the couch.

“Don’t tell me to sit.” But Red did sit, so Frank got what he wanted.

“Yeah, you’re funny. I’m going to get help. You -”

“Stay. Yeah. Got it.”

Frank tossed a blanket over Red - blankets helped, right? - and had the foresight to grab the right key and zip up his hoodie over his vest before he set out once more. Curtis was off visiting his sister and her kids for the holiday, so there was only one other person Frank could ask.

He got to St. Agnes in no time flat and pounded on the door until somebody answered.

It wasn’t Maggie. Why couldn’t it have been Maggie? Still, this nun seemed pretty unfazed by some stranger knocking on his door. “Can you get Maggie?” A nun, right. He should try to be polite, but he was pretty sure he still sounded impatient as he added, “Please.”

“Is it Matthew?”

Huh. “Uh, yeah.”

“Come in out of the cold,” the nun urged. “Wait here,” she added, once he’d closed the door behind him. “I’ll get her.”

Maggie must not have gotten into her pajamas or whatever nuns wore to bed - and Frank firmly steered his mind away from that topic - as she was down the stairs in a matter of minutes, a bag of supplies in hand.

“Thanks,” he said to the other nun, who was a step behind Maggie.

“Anything for Santa.”

That gave him kind of a mental record scratch, but he shook it off, turning to Maggie instead.

“How bad?” she asked as she pulled on her coat.

Frank held the door for her, then made sure it was closed behind them. “Fell off a roof. I don’t think he got shot but he’s definitely broken an arm, and his hearing isn’t great.”

“His hearing?” Why did that make Maggie eye Frank?

Damn, that little nun was fast. Frank was grateful for her hurry, though. They made good time, and Red was still on the couch when they got to his place. Now without his mask, he had curled up in the blanket that Frank had left, looking miserable. He turned his head when the door opened, so maybe his hearing was better.

“You fell off a roof?” Maggie demanded, moving to sit next to Red.

“I’m fine,” Red managed.

“Oh, it’s a Christmas miracle.”

Frank had known the nun was sarcastic, but he hadn’t realized she could reach _that_ level of sarcasm. He was kind of impressed. A lot of it, he assumed, was worry. He’d watched Red and Maggie interact often enough to know that sniping was just another way for them to express affection.

“Here, move the blanket. Frank, can you get these ridiculous ropes off his good arm? I’ll work on the broken one.”

Frank nodded and moved to sit on Red’s other side. “Okay?” he asked, and Red offered his good arm. “Good excuse to get new ropes.”

While he picked at the knots on his ropes, Maggie took a pair of scissors from her bag and cut off the other set of ropes. Frank wasn’t sure if Red’s protests were from the pain or from the upset of losing his rope.

“So what else hurts?” Maggie asked as she eased off the last of the ropes, supporting Red’s arm. Not that there’d been any doubt, but it was definitely broken. “And don’t say that you’re fine.”

“But I _am_ -”

Red couldn’t see, but Frank was pretty sure he could feel the force of Maggie’s glare, as he didn’t finish that sentence.

“You really should go to the hospital for this arm,” Maggie continued. “There’s only so much I can do. I’m going to cut off your shirt,” she added, “As I don’t think even somebody who is _fine_ could deal with pulling a shirt over a broken arm.” She picked up her scissors once more and soon Red’s shirt was added to the pile of rope on the floor.

“No,” Red said, wincing as Maggie prodded at the bruises blooming along his ribs. “No hospital.”

Maggie sighed and poked Red’s side once more before saying, "Probably not broken, but you’re going to feel that. What about urgent care? There’s probably one open even now, and they can deal with a broken arm.

“No,” Red repeated, reaching for the blanket with his good arm and pulling it over his torso.

“Matthew,” Maggie said, her tone crisp. “I don’t know what the issue is, but I - I can’t fix this so that I know it will heal right.”

Frank thought Red was being a little irrational - it wasn’t like it was a gunshot wound that the hospital would have to report - but knew that there was no reasoning with Red when he was like this.

“No,” Red repeated. He turned toward Frank and it looked like he was going to say something else, but then just shook his head.

Maggie made an exasperated noise, then looked as if she’d had an idea. “What about Richie?”

Who?

Of course, Red was already shaking his head. “I’m not getting Richie out of bed.”

Maggie drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, muttering something that definitely contained the word _stubborn_.

Frank figured Red came by it honestly.

“Now,” Maggie said, in a voice that implied that Red was trying her patience. “I’m going to do what I can to stabilize your arm, and you are _not_ going to do anything to make it worse, including but not limited to punching, jumping off roofs, and throwing things with that arm. When it is a reasonable hour of the day, I’m going to call Richie and see if he’s willing to help you.”

“But it’s Christmas.”

“ _Matthew_.”

Wow, that shut him right up. Frank took note.

“He will likely say yes, and _you_ -” Here Maggie’s focus turned to Frank; he sat up straighter. “- will get Matthew wherever Richie will see him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Red turned toward Frank with that kicked-puppy look, but, really, what else could Frank have said?

“Good.” Maggie rummaged in her bag and pulled out a splint. Frank guessed she had to be prepared for anything, with Red. “I’m assuming you’re going to refuse painkillers?”

“Yes.”

Maggie shook her head and went to work, easing Red’s arm into as good an approximation of normal as she could get it and then stabilizing it with the splint.

“Don’t take this off,” she instructed Red, who nodded. He’d gone a little pale during Maggie’s ministrations. “Try to sleep,” she added a little more gently. “I’ll call after I’ve spoken to Richie.” Her hand lifted as if she was going to brush Red’s hair back, but she stopped the motion and then looked almost guilty.

Frank felt like maybe he shouldn’t be seeing that and looked away, but glanced back over as Maggie got up. “Merry Christmas,” she said, her tone a little wry.

Frank got to his feet to walk her to the door. “Merry Christmas. Thanks for coming.”

Maggie just nodded, with a small smile, and Frank closed and locked the door behind her.

“Bed?” he suggested to Red, who managed to get to his feet. Frank moved to walk next to him, his hand resting lightly on Red’s back. “You hearing okay?”

“Better, yeah. I meditated while you were gone. It… it’ll come back. It did before. Already coming back quicker than the first time.”

“First time?” Red’s expression didn’t change, but Frank felt him tense up, and pressed, “This happen before?”

Red didn’t say anything as he made his way into the bedroom.

“Red.”

How did someone who was such shit at talking ever become a lawyer? But, no, Frank knew how. He could talk all day, Red could, as long as it wasn’t about himself.

“Yeah,” Red said finally. He sat on the edge of the bed, his movements slow and careful.

“Well, how’d it come back before?”

Red’s face went grim. “Time.”

“Damn, how long?” If he was going to keep giving one-word answers, Frank was going to ask more questions.

“Too long.”

Wow. Two whole words. “Well, how’d it happen?”

Red shook his head.

Fuck. Back to nothing. But Frank guessed that meant it was something important. Red would talk about the nothing stuff, no problem. It was the big stuff that made him clam up. Frank exhaled a short, frustrated sound. “Fine,” he muttered, turning to leave. Fuck it.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to. It was Christmas; Red was hurt. He didn’t like assholes who left in a huff. But damn, he was sick of trying and getting nothing back.

“You’re leaving because I won’t talk to you?” Maybe his hearing was off again, as he’d started talking more loudly.

“Yeah.”

Red got to his feet, still shaky but obviously angry, his arm tight against his chest. “Does it occur to you that I might have a reason not to tell you?”

Frank sighed. “There’s always a reason. Doesn’t mean they’re good ones.”

“Fuck you, Frank!”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re still not telling me what happened.”

Red tipped his head back for a moment, and Frank wondered if he was actually _praying_ in the middle of their argument. “You want to know?” Red asked. “Fine. But remember that you asked for this.” He crossed to stand in front of Frank; Frank almost put out a hand as he wavered, but Red caught himself. “I lost my hearing after you shot me in the head.” Red’s words hit Frank like a sledgehammer to the gut. Fuck.

“I knew you had a helmet.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed, his words clipped. “If you had wanted to kill me, you would have.” This was Lawyer Red, cool and methodical.

Frank did not like Lawyer Red. But Frank was his own brand of stubborn, despite the twist of guilt just below his chest. Fuck, he was still Catholic after all. “That’s right. I didn’t want you dead, or you would have been.” He knew it was stupid even as he said it, but damn. Red made him so angry sometimes.

Red scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re such an asshole.”

Apparently, the feeling was mutual. Frank shook his head. He was doing this wrong. He’d fucked up when he’d shot Red; he should own up to it.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, lowering his voice. “I am. And I’m sorry. Sit down, yeah?”

“I don’t need to sit down,” Red muttered as he wavered on his feet.

Frank reached to steady Red, who stepped away and waved him off. Sure, he was fine. Frank didn’t push it, though. If the idiot wanted to fall over, that was on him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I - yeah, I meant to shoot you, and the bullet went where I wanted it to go.”

Red smiled a little. “This is an awful apology.”

“Shut up. I’m not done.” Red finally sat on the bed again, and Frank continued, “I didn’t mean to fuck up your hearing, though, even back then. If I’d known, I would have…” He frowned.

“Shot me somewhere else?” Red’s smile had widened a little.

“Probably, yeah.” He stepped over to the bed and rested a hand on Red’s shoulder. This time, Red didn’t move away.

They stayed there like that, and then Red asked, “Are you still leaving?”

“Up to you.”

“You’re staying,” Red said. It wasn’t a question; like Frank would leave him on his own with a busted arm and messed up hearing. He wouldn’t have left. Not really.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. He changed clothes, then hunkered down and shoved Red’s hands out of the way when the knots on his combat boots proved to be too much for one hand.

Seeing the frustration on Red’s face, Frank tried to remember how long it had taken Frankie’s broken ankle to heal, that one time. More than a month.

Shit. Red was going to be impossible. Frank pulled off the boots and grabbed a pair of sweatpants for Red to sleep in. After he handed them over, he ducked into the bathroom.

When he came back out, Red had changed and was stretched out on the bed, splinted arm over his head. Once Frank settled in next to him, Red moved closer.

“This isn’t how I pictured this night,” he murmured, sounding tired already.

“Yeah, me too.” Frank pulled him in closer, careful of the arm. “Try to sleep, yeah?”

“Mm,” Red agreed. “Merry Christmas, Frank.”

“Merry Christmas.”

* * *

The next day, Red’s phone started saying _Maggie_ around midmorning. Frank had by that point convinced Red to eat and to put on clean clothes, though he was obviously in some pain.

Frank didn’t ask how he was doing, though. He knew what the answer would be.

Red answered the phone and listened, then said, “Okay,” and offered the phone to Frank.

“He sounds chipper,” Maggie observed.

“You know I can still hear you, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Frank agreed. “He’s _fine_. The doc going to see him?”

“Yes. I’ll text the address, and he said he’s on his way now.”

“You got some dirt on him or something?”

Maggie sounded amused as she replied, “No. But his in-laws are staying at his house for the holiday, so he’s glad for the break.”

“Ah, got it. Well, I’ll get Red, uh, Matthew there and someone will let you know how it goes.”

“Thank you, Frank.”

Frank hung onto the phone until the text came in, then nodded. He knew the place, a private practice not too far away, relatively speaking. “Here’s your phone back.”

Red took it. “It’s weird to hear you say my name.”

“Matthew,” Frank tried. He made a face. “It _is_ weird. C’mon, time to go.”

“I’m -”

“Yeah, you are. C’mon.”

Red looped his cane over his good arm by its strap, then sighed and took Frank’s arm. He took a step, then frowned as the cane swung and bumped against Frank’s side. Clearly, the strap wasn’t going to fit over the cast. “Shit.”

“I can carry it in case you want it later.”

“Yeah.” Red took off the cane and handed it to Frank.

They made it to the office without any trouble, and the doc was waiting for them by the door. Everything went smoothly enough that Frank was a little suspicious. Red even behaved himself, all friendly and chatty with the doc, who Frank eventually figured out had grown up in the orphanage with Red.

“We’ll have to get together some time and catch up,” the doc urged, once the cast was in place. “And I’ll definitely see you in six weeks to get this off.”

“Six _weeks_?” Red protested.

“Yep. Take it easy -” Frank couldn’t help but laugh, and the doc looked over, puzzled. “- and here’s a list of exercises you can do in a few weeks.” He started to hand the paper over to Red, then visibly remembered the whole blindness thing and gave it to Frank instead. “Maybe you can help him out with that.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “Thanks, doc.”

Perhaps seeing that they were preparing to leave, the doc sighed and said, “Guess I should get back. But feel free to call or text if you have any issues. Good to see you, Matt.”

“You too, Richie - er, Richard. Thank you.”

They got back to Red’s place in one piece, though Red was quiet during the trip.

“Still pissed off about six weeks?” Frank asked when they were back in the apartment.

“What? No. I can meditate and it’ll heal faster.”

“The doc doesn’t know that, though. He’s not going to take off the cast based on your say-so.” Red made a face and went to sit on the couch. “What’s your issue, then?”

“Those guys. The guys who shot at me, they know my name.”

“What?”

“They… they said, _hey, it’s Daredevil_ and I thought, oh, maybe they’ll take a picture or whatever. And then one of them yelled _Matt_ and I turned, like an idiot, and that’s when they shot me.”

Frank remembered how Red had stopped, how he’d called out for Frank before he fell. He remembered the guy standing over Red with the gun and felt his jaw tighten and his gut clench. Fuck. He should have killed every last one of them. “They tried to finish the job. I saw them looking at you, scared them off. Who are they?”

“The, uh.” Red cleared his throat. “The guys in that alley. From Halloween. I just figured out where I knew their voices from.”

Oh. _Those_ assholes. Yeah, they’d threatened the kids. Frank _absolutely_ wanted them dead.

“Do you know their names, anything about them?” Frank didn’t want to kill the wrong guys, after all. He had standards.

“No.” Red turned in his direction, then, adding, “Don’t try to find them, Frank.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. These guys threatened the kids, they shot at _you_ , and they know who you are. And you think I shouldn’t try to find them?”

“Right. Killing them won’t -”

“Yeah, it will. It will _absolutely_ make things better if they’re dead.”

“But they might -”

“What, get better? Seems like they got worse to me, moved from a knife to guns.”

“Frank -”

“No. At what point will you stop ignoring filth like this?”

“I’m not ignoring them. The law -”

“The law didn’t do shit. You knew they were bad in that alley and guess what? They’re not in jail and they _shot at you_.” Frank took a deep breath, trying to force down the anger. Of course, when the anger was gone, the fear reared its head.

Frank couldn’t lose Red. He couldn’t.

Maybe Red somehow got an idea of what was going on in Frank’s head; he got up and came to stand next to Frank. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” Frank replied, but he pulled Red close and hung on tightly. Was Frank shaking? Why was he shaking? Red rubbed at his back with his good arm, the stupid cast bumping against Frank’s side.

“Hey,” Red murmured against Frank’s chest. He was sounding a little squashed, so Frank backed off a little. Red, now that he had some room to move, tipped his head up and kissed Frank.

It started out as a gentle kiss and Frank, aware of the cast and the bruises and probably more, knowing Red, did his best to keep it that way. Red obviously had other ideas.

“Red,” Frank protested. “Your arm’s in a cast.”

“Yeah, and it will be for six weeks.” He paused. “Maybe.” Frank let that _maybe_ go for now, though he wouldn’t put it past Red to pull something stupid. He was all set to object some more - after all, it hadn’t been that long since Red had been hurt - but Red kissed him again and the objections kind of left Frank’s head. When Red grabbed his head and turned toward the bed, Frank didn’t complain.

After all, it hadn’t been that long since Frank had nearly lost Red.

And it was Christmas.


End file.
